2003-03-31 - 5:17 p.m.
The day has trickled past me, while theoretically I was there I'd swear on my grave that I wasn't.
I finally went in for that ultrasound today, the one which I had been avoiding for weeks. It was generally rather unpleasant, except for being able to kind of feel the soundwaves vibrating a little and for being able to see my ovaries on the screen and silently remark "hey, don't I know you from somewhere?" to them.
Am I the only person who finds it amusing to speak to their internal organs? Probably.
The main thing which stood out about the experience, except the obvious general uncomfortability, was that second of panic caused by the stenographer asking "Is there any chance you could be pregnant?"
"No!! Why? Is there something you're not telling me??"
Thankfully there wasn't. While I'm all for immaculate conceptions that doesn't mean I want to be having one.
Later I tried to do some shopping but accidentally came back with a top and earrings I can emphatically not afford, and a to-do list for the day with almost nothing crossed out.
I picked up the ultrasound and headed to my doctor's. The good news is that my ovaries are looking ship-shape... that's not really an appropriate term of description... they're tops? Forget it, the general gist is that things seem fine and good, I am neither pregnant nor infertile as I had quietly feared.
Still, as it turns out my ovaries aren't polycystic as suspected, that still leaves my FAI (one of my hormone levels) being way overly high for no apparent reason, so I am being sent to a specialist.
The bad/funny news is in what kind of specialist I'm being sent to. Can you guess? Here's a hint: and I thought having an ultrasound was bad.
That's right, poor little innocent naive me is being sent to a "Sorry, you want to stick that WHERE?" gynaecologist. I'm crossing my fingers that she'll just look at the info my GP has collected so far and just go "OOoohh! I know what you have!" and have absolutely no need to do any examining. Besides, my ovaries totally checked out, so I don't think she'd have any reason to. But still, argh. Oh well, it could be worse, at least I know that she isn't a he.
And so my mother visits her specialist doctors and I will be visiting mine. Such is life, apparently.
I finally went in for that ultrasound today, the one which I had been avoiding for weeks. It was generally rather unpleasant, except for being able to kind of feel the soundwaves vibrating a little and for being able to see my ovaries on the screen and silently remark "hey, don't I know you from somewhere?" to them.
Am I the only person who finds it amusing to speak to their internal organs? Probably.
The main thing which stood out about the experience, except the obvious general uncomfortability, was that second of panic caused by the stenographer asking "Is there any chance you could be pregnant?"
"No!! Why? Is there something you're not telling me??"
Thankfully there wasn't. While I'm all for immaculate conceptions that doesn't mean I want to be having one.
Later I tried to do some shopping but accidentally came back with a top and earrings I can emphatically not afford, and a to-do list for the day with almost nothing crossed out.
I picked up the ultrasound and headed to my doctor's. The good news is that my ovaries are looking ship-shape... that's not really an appropriate term of description... they're tops? Forget it, the general gist is that things seem fine and good, I am neither pregnant nor infertile as I had quietly feared.
Still, as it turns out my ovaries aren't polycystic as suspected, that still leaves my FAI (one of my hormone levels) being way overly high for no apparent reason, so I am being sent to a specialist.
The bad/funny news is in what kind of specialist I'm being sent to. Can you guess? Here's a hint: and I thought having an ultrasound was bad.
That's right, poor little innocent naive me is being sent to a "Sorry, you want to stick that WHERE?" gynaecologist. I'm crossing my fingers that she'll just look at the info my GP has collected so far and just go "OOoohh! I know what you have!" and have absolutely no need to do any examining. Besides, my ovaries totally checked out, so I don't think she'd have any reason to. But still, argh. Oh well, it could be worse, at least I know that she isn't a he.
And so my mother visits her specialist doctors and I will be visiting mine. Such is life, apparently.
